


Forcing the Truth

by Onceyourempire



Series: The Truth [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: BRO'S PARENTS OHH, Gen, Post-Canon, Series, more headcanon oh man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onceyourempire/pseuds/Onceyourempire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's ten years, one Sburb session, multiple doomed timelines, and one un-death since you told Dave about your parents. He's going to leave soon, and you don't want anything to interrupt the last few months you have with him. The world at large has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Facing the Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Telling the Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/216648) by [Onceyourempire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onceyourempire/pseuds/Onceyourempire). 



> I couldn't let go of my Bro headcanon after my last piece and decided to kind of do a post-sburb series moving along with Bro's parents and how Dave fits into everything. It's going to have at least three parts? I'm not sure at this moment in time since the idea is still fluid to me.

Your name is Bro Strider, and you are thirty-five years old. You have a kid brother that you like to call “Little dude” but whose name is really Dave Strider. Roughly six months ago, he stopped being little officially because he turned 18. Soon he will be going to college in New York City, also known as “Far Away From Home”. You have known his whole life that he would be leaving you, but you thought that was going to happen five years ago, when he and his friends played a game that got you killed and then un-killed. The fact that he even became old enough to drive is a miracle to you, but now you have to face the fact that he is no longer yours to mold. He is done, the timer has dinged on your oven, and he is being put into the frying pan known as life where he will be grilled until he dies. It is quite honestly scary as fuck to you, which is why you may or may not have let him win your last few strife sessions. That is your version of holding Dave closer before he flies the coop for good. Most parents react by flipping all of the shits and crying and trying to give serious advice, but you and Dave aren’t like that. You had those moments five years ago when you thought the next time you were going to see Dave was when one of you was going to be standing over the other’s dead body. Even then, there was no crying or serious advice or any of that dumb crap. You just beat Dave’s ass even harder during strifes to make sure he was ready. He was ready, alright, and he’s even more ready now.

When you first found him, you were scared that you were going to completely and utterly fuck him up for the rest of his life. You were afraid that he was going to hate you fiercely.  But neither of those things happened. Though Dave nor you are into that mushy talking stuff, you can tell that he cares about you as much as you care about him. It’s a bro thing; you both just always know. You also know that Dave has grown up to at least be an okay dude. Not all of that can be credited to you- the game taught him a lot, as well as his friends. But he knows how to take care of himself and the people he loves, he knows right from wrong, and he knows himself,  which is more than many people twice his age can say. So yeah, you did pretty okay in raising him.

You did much better than your parents did with you, which is all that matters to you. They may have fucked up with you but Dave is going to be okay and through raising him, you’ve become okay too.

You know he’s curious about your parents, which you have told him are pretty much his parents too since you don’t really feel like his dad or anything. You are brothers, through and through, even if you care for him like a guardian. He asked once about the ‘rents and you answered him as best as you could. He hasn’t pushed since, probably because he gets that you don’t really care to talk about your parents. Someday, he’s going to want to meet them. You’ve accepted this.

You’re just hoping that day doesn’t come before he goes away to college because you want to grab as much bro time as you can before he goes off to spread his own wings and be a cool motherfucker elsewhere. Maybe it’s stupid and it is certainly unironic but you love your dumb fuck of a brother and you know that you’re going to take the separation a little hard. You do not want your parents cutting in and taking the little time you have left from you. Is that selfish? Yes. Do you feel guilty about it? Fuck no.

Sadly for you, the world at large has other plans. You are going to shortly discover that you are not pals with the world at large.

BRO ==> ANSWER THE PHONE

It is 8 in the morning and you had a gig last night. This translates to it being too fucking early for this bullshit. You fling your hand out anyways and grab your phone. The screen shows an unknown number. You answer, because it might be a customer or a club and the habit of never turning down a job has stuck from the days when missing a gig meant missing meals.

“Broderick?”

You have not been called that in eighteen years, and for good reason.

That reason being that you have not spoken to your parents in eighteen years.

“Mom?”

“Good, it is you.”

“How did you get my phone number?”

“I went to your facebook page and from there contacted your agent. He gave me your number.”

The traitor. Give a man 10% of your profits and this is the treatment you get? You are going to need to have a serious talk with him very soon.

“Okay, next question. Why the fuck are you calling me at 8 am?”

“Broderick! Language!”

“Mom you do realize that I am, in fact, 35 and have not lived at home in twenty years and so can use  whatever “language” I want? Merde, by the way.”

“There is no need to get smart with me, young man.”

“Mom, is there a reason you called beyond pretending that you can parent me still?”

“Your son- David, right? How old is he?”

“He’s not my son, he’s my brother and his name is Dave. He’s old enough to not have parents anymore, if you were wondering if you could still get your claws into him.”

“Thank you for the wonderful image, but that was not what I was wondering. I was wondering if he was going to college soon.”

You do not like the sound of this. Not one bit. Not at all. No.

“He is.”

“Where?”

“NYU.”

“Really! That is very far away.”

“Yes it is. And before you ask, he’s not doing it to get away from me. I convinced him that it was fine with me if he went.”

“I wasn’t going to say a word.”

“Yes you were. You have been convinced that I’m a bad guardian since the day I found Dave.”

“That is not true.”

“You screamed at a social worker and told her that I was not fit to raise any child ever.”

“I was looking out for you!”

You have met many women in your life. Not a single one of them is anywhere near as frustrating as this broad that you like to call Mom out of sheer irony. Also, because she loathes being called such a “middle class” name. You sigh, and decide to cut the banter.

“What do you want, Mom?”

“I have never met David, or at least not since he was a baby.”

There is a long silence, and you slowly become aware that she’s waiting for you to confirm this. God, she is such a demanding woman.

“Yes, this is true.”

You almost add that there’s a reason for this but since that will just make this conversation even worse than it already is, you bite your tongue.  The less talking you do, the better.

“You once told me that although you are his-“ she spits out the next word, and you can’t help but clench the phone a little tighter at her tone, “-guardian,  I am his mother. Don’t you think it is strange that although I am his mother, I have never really met him? Especially since he is leaving home soon?”

You have the distinct feeling of doom sitting in your chest, waiting to strike. You know where this conversation is going. You know the outcome. This is the perfect storm and at this point, there is very little you can do to stop the raging rain and wind coming right for your life. Life obviously does not like the idea of you having some last few months of bro time with your charge, because it has placed you on this line, on this day in late June. You are very unhappy right now.

“Perhaps.”

“There is no perhaps about it. Broderick, I have one favor to ask you, one thing in exchange for all the years your father and I spent raising you and caring for you.”

You say nothing. You are not going to fulfill her strange conversational needs anymore. Right now, you are 13 and you are being a little brat because your parents are once again fucking up your life.

She sighs. You don’t care.

“Please, let David spend a week, even two here with us. We want to meet him. I am not sure what stories you have told him about us, but we want him to know us as us, not as the wicked parents from your bed time horror tales.”

You close your eyes and push your face into the pillow. You want nothing more than to say no, to be the brat, to tell your mom to fuck herself and leave Dave alone. But you know that Dave has always been curious about your- _his_ parents. Ever since you told him about them ten years ago, he has been curious. He never cared about them not being around- after all, he had you. When he was little, he would tell you that you were all he needed. When he got older he stopped saying shit like that unironically but you know it’s still true. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to meet them. He does. You know he does, though he had never said it out loud. Maybe this is part of letting him go.

You let out the air you didn’t know you were holding and move your face out of the pillow.

“I’ll ask him. He’s eighteen. I can’t force him to do anything, and I won’t. But I won’t stop him either.”

“...That is very mature of you, Broderick.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess living for over thirty years makes you an adult or something.”

“Broderick.”

“Look, I’ll ask him, and I’ll call you back. Happy?”

“Mostly, yes. Call this number.”

“Okay.”

“Good bye, Broderick.”

“Yeah. Bye, Mom.”

You hang up first. A small victory. You roll over in bed and stare at the ceiling. Two weeks, tops. That isn’t bad. That still leaves plenty of time for you and him. Besides, it’ll be practice for you both. You have been away from each other for days at a time, and there were a few single weeks in there, but two weeks would be new. Six months is going to be mind-blowingly new. It’s always been you two together, bros forever, Dave and Bro versus the world. And Lil’ Cal, you add in as an afterthought, giving your ever present puppet-bro a nod. You give him a fist bump as well but even Cal can tell that your heart isn’t in it. He looks disappointed and you shrug at him.

“Sorry man. Serious shit is going down. Really unironic. I’ll be a better bro later, I promise.”

Cal looks appeased, at least. You roll onto your side and close your eyes. You’re going to need some serious shut eye if you’re going to actually talk to Dave about this. It hits you that you’re going to have to tell Dave your real name before your parents can. You groan quietly and pull a pillow over your head. Make that some serious shut eye and at least two beers.


	2. Moving Towards the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you hear tell that you have parents. You are standing outside their door and you are about to spend two weeks living with them. What will you do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really cranking out these parts! This part focuses on Dave and the next part will as well. We may get back to Bro, and I'd really like to since Bro really flows for me. However, I don't mind working with Dave a little, since I adore him as well. Also he cracks me up.

BRO ==> BE THE KID

You cannot be the kid, since you have not been a kid in seven months. You are currently an adult, as well as currently being Dave Strider. It was a nice try, though.

You certainly feel like a kid as you eye the house (read: mansion?) in front of you. Though you get the feeling that this house believes you to be in front of it as opposed to the other way around. It certainly has that air- snobby, high-class, and with its non-existent nose stuck up in the air at you. This is quite possibly the sassiest house you have ever stood in front of and you don’t like it. Sassy houses spell trouble for you in bright green capitalized letters. Unfortunately, this is trouble that you asked for or at least was asked of you.

Bro broke the news to you a couple of weeks ago. At the time, you were surprised and kind of happy. You love Bro and all, but having parents, real normal parents, is a thrilling concept. It’s also completely ironic- you and Bro, the most chill, un-snobby, middle-class people you know, have socialite parents who live for glass cut in the shape of bears and other strange yet supposedly classy things. You’ve always wondered about your parents. Bro told you about them all those years ago but you never heard their voices, saw their faces, or even knew their real names. Bro didn’t like talking about them and as a brother _and_ a bro, you respected that. It was the least you could do. Now they wanted to meet you and even Facebook-stalked Bro to get to you. It was flattering, if creepy.

You understood when he advised against going to see them. His relationship with them was tense at best. You listened in on the phone call between Bro and the woman who is supposedly your mom as he told her that you were coming. Bro was terse most of the time, but sometimes strayed into outright sarcastic or petty. It was a side of him you had never seen before and you had the first pangs of doubt. Bro was and is the most laid back dude ever, but these people made him…bitchy, for lack of a better word. He sounded a bit like a rebellious teenage girl, which could have been on purpose. You wouldn’t put it past him to really climb the echeladder of irony for the sake of his parents. The thing that made you doubt was his expression. It didn’t look mocking, or snide, or even the pokerface he normally wore. It just looked blank, like he was tired.

That’s what scared you most of all. These people, in some way, had a power or influence over Bro that no one else ever had. You wanted to take it back, tell him that you didn’t want to go, tell them to leave Bro alone. It was too late though. The arrangements were made and you were doomed to two weeks with the only people who ever appeared to make Bro show any emotion outside of his own free will.

You are still curious and even more so seeing the sheer size of the place they live in. You know that your grasp on your suitcase is probably a little tighter than strictly necessary, and your pokerface is set to a higher level than normal, but they don’t know that. These people, this power couple of the 21st century, are not going to break you. You’ve decided this. You have two courses of action planned out in your head, with day to day goals set for the next two weeks. Which one you take depends on them. If they really are as bad as Bro made them out to be, or worse, you are going to declare war. You are going to take revenge in the name of Bro for all the crap they put him through. It will be a holy war on par with the Crusades; it will be glorious and fierce and many tears will be shed.

None of them will be yours.

But if they aren’t as bad- if they’re actually okay- you’re going to mend bridges. You are going to become the Strider family mason, breaking down the walls and building them back up around all of you, instead of between. You’re going to make up for all the years that Bro has shut himself away, for all the years that they left both him and you on your own. It will be just as glorious as the other plan, but it will be slow and calm and no tears will be shed.

Either way, you are going to change this family. You’re doing it for yourself, yes, because you have quite the stake in this whole mess of a bloodline. Most of it is for Bro. No one deserves the childhood he says he had, especially not the man who raised you, the man who saved you more times than you can count, the coolest guy this side of Pluto.  You tilt your chin up and give a quick nod to the house as well as a casual, if mental, “sup”.  Then, you walk to the front door. It’s now or never, Strider. Better pick quick. Time, as you know better than anyone, cannot be wasted.

DAVE ==> STOP HAVING AN INTERNAL MONOLOUGE AND KNOCK ALREADY

You decide to stop monolouging unironically and knock on the door already. It’s amazing that this choice did not occur to you earlier.

Your knocking is met with silence. Not normal silence either, an awkward silence. You wonder if you needed to knock a certain way or give a password. You never know with the upper crust. They do all sorts of crazy things that no one understands. Just take Rose and her mom for example. You don’t understand a single thing they do. What’s with the bronzed vacuum? The wizards? You furrow your brows at the door. Your parents better not have anything weird like that in their house. If they do you are dipping faster than a bouncy ball on the Autobahn.

Your thoughts of throwing a bouncy ball onto the Autobahn for ironic purposes is interrupted by the door opening.  A man in some serious butler regalia greets you. You try your hardest to keep your pokerface, but you find your resolve slipping. A butler. They have a real butler. This is quite possibly the funniest thing you have ever seen, a funny only squared by the fact that he seems serious about his job. This is so unironic it burns. You follow him inside, doing a quick check for giant statues as you go. It seems safe so far, which means that Rose and her mom must be an exception. You aren’t sure if that settles your nerves or not. On one hand, it means your parents can’t be too insane. On the other, you’re related to Rose by blood, and she is at least a little insane.

You’ve been inside this house for five minutes and already you are disturbed by the implications of their decor.

“Mr. and Mrs. Strider are waiting for you in the dining room. I’ll be showing you to where you will be staying first, then you may meet them.”

This dude is so formal. You almost want to pop a British accent on him just to freak him out, but you resist. Maybe another time.

“Cool. Lead on, dude.”

He looks at you sideways, but you’re used to that look. It means that you’re doing whatever you’re trying to do right when you get that look. You go up a big winding staircase that should only exist in a Broadway show or a movie from the fifties and down the longest hall ever. At the end, you find the one door that does not look like the others. While the others are all painted a soft baby blue, this one is a vibrant red that you approve of right away. You vaguely wonder why it’s different but you shove that thought aside. It’s time to dump this suitcase and meet the folks.

Inside, the room is white. Until you look up and discover that the ceiling is a darker red than the door and look down to see wall to wall carpeting of the same shade. You have to applaud the color choice as well as the placing of it. It’s exciting and gets you pumped to do all sorts of crazy shit. The walls are covered in sheets of paper with art ranging from sketchy doodles to expansive and vivid landscapes on them. They look like they were all drawn by the same person and you have a serious suspicion as to who the artist is. There’s also sheet music thrown around everywhere and weird knick knacks littering every free surface. You feel at home already.

You throw the suitcase down on the double mattresses on the floor, which is very reminiscent of your own bed at home. The duvet is the same color as the rug and ceiling and looks comfy as all get out. Even if your parents turn out to be douche bags, at least you’ll be cool hanging in here for two weeks straight. You snap open the suitcase to start throwing clothes on the ground to really make it feel like home, and practically shriek. Inside is Lil’ Cal, grinning up at you like he always does. Once you get passed the mometary heart attack, you feel almost sappy. Bro never lets Lil’ Cal out of his sight but he must have ninja’d him into your bag at the last moment. He has a note clutched in his hand, and you gingerly pull it out.

“Thanks, man.”

Cal just smiles in anticipation of you reading his message.

The note is simple- a little weird doodle of a crazy creature, like the ones Bro shoved under your pillow in exchange for teeth when you were a kid. It also had a couple sentences in Bro’s cruddy handwriting.

“Keep it real, little dude. Cal’s gonna make sure you don’t break too much shit.”

You give Cal a chill fist bump. Though you had some serious misgivings about him as a kid, you two have since figured it all out and are all cool now. The fact that Bro sent him with you means that he’s worried about you, but didn’t want to get in your way. You suddenly feel like the grown-up you’ve legally been for a while now. You shove the note in your pocket and head for the door. Time to meet the ‘rents. You don’t feel as worried as you did when you were standing outside. Cal’s got your back, and this room feels like you never left home. Even if your parents are the crappiest ever, you now know that you’re going to be okay.

They can’t break you. You are Dave Strider and they are going to learn that real Striders are tough as shit and twice as cash.


	3. Meeting the Truth Halfway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAVE ==> GO MEET YOUR PARENTS FOR THE FIRST TIME.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took so long! I got busy and I just kind of gave on Dave because he is dumb and I hate him. Except not.  
> But no fear! I feel better about him now so maybe I'll go on a writing jag? idk. In other news, my Dave shirt shipped today with my Vriska hoodie! I took it as a good sign.
> 
> I also have been making 8tracks recently for Dave, Bro, and Dave+Bro. They can be found here: http://8tracks.com/subjectempire/

DAVE ==> BREAK SOMETHING AS A CHILDISH ACT OF REBELLION

You consider this for about no seconds. Cal was sent to make sure you didn’t break _too much_ shit, sure, but breaking something childishly is not keeping it real, nor is it ironic under these circumstances. You might break a dish for Bro later, but right now you have bigger things to worry about.

Things like standing in the middle of the fanciest ass room you have ever been in. This “””dining room””” is absolutely insane. There is white and lace everywhere, even on the table that you assume is for eating but could be for sacrifices to the House Beautiful gods for all you know. You feel blatantly out of place in your worn red shirt and even more worn jeans. The room appears to be judging you just for breathing, carefully eyeing your dirty shoes and muttering that you better not tread dirt and germs all over the carpet because it just got steamed. Your parents seem to have dipped while you were putting your stuff away, since they are nowhere to be seen. You decide to wait here in case they return and slowly pick apart the design choices they have made, starting with the table. This table is long and on the narrow side, covering in some floofy white table cloth. You narrow your eyes at it and even drop into a crouch to get a gander at the legs. Your table at home is a solid deal, dark and covered in gashes from fights gone array. It has rings on it from glasses forgotten on hot days, a few burns from The Lighter Accident of ’02, and a wobbly leg. This table has…nothing. It’s sterile. This doesn’t look like a table that people live with and use and experience. It feels dead.

You quickly stand up and look away. This place is freaking you out, just a little. Your apartment is a home, through and through. It’s been lived in and broken and put back together. It feels safe and right and warm. This house doesn’t feel like anything.  It’s cold. You have no idea how anyone could live this way. It makes you sick to think that this is the place that Bro was confined to for fifteen years. You adjust your shades, a nervous habit, your only tell that you allow yourself to have.

Thankfully, your parents seem to have deemed it the right moment to sweep into the room.

“David?”

You flinch. Bro told these people several times that your name is Dave, it’s on your birth certificate, you have never been called David, and it’s never going to be your name, but apparently they don’t listen to Bro.

But hey. Being called David is much better than being named-

“I see Broderick didn’t come inside. I’m not surprised.”

You still can’t believe Bro’s name is Broderick. The look on his face when he told you is burned into your mind, to cherish  forever and hold close on dark nights. You swallow a chuckle and lift your gaze to the couple before you.

The woman is still beautiful, though she should be in her late fifties by now. Plastic surgery- one, time- zero. Though it could just be genetics. She has blonde hair, startlingly similar to your own shade, but lacks the red eyes. Of course she does, you think. She isn’t your flesh and blood mom. The only flesh and blood you have is Bro and Rose and her mom. Still, it’s strange to see that color of blonde hair and not see the red or purple eyes underneath it.  Instead, she has blue eyes which are sizing you up scientifically, marking what’s wrong with you and remembering what isn’t. You figure there probably isn’t much in the second category.

The man has darker hair than his wife, a dirty blonde matched with brown eyes. He looks sturdy and grounded, ready for anything you could ever throw at him. His eyes aren’t looking at you like his wife’s are, but instead are seeing through you. She’s got the physical appearance covered while he’s trying to determine who you are. It’s part of his job, understanding people. He runs a sales company and he has to know how to sell, what people want, how they tick. Right now, he’s figuring out how you work, why you’re looking him dead in the eye. Are you really not afraid of him, or is this a show?

You don’t think you like either of them very much. You don’t like being picked apart and analyzed. If you’re going to be analyzed, it’s going to be on your terms, when you want it to happen and only about what you want it to be about. You stand up a little straighter and plant your feet a little further apart.

“He said you wouldn’t be.”

“Of course. Broderick always knows everything, doesn’t he?” she sighs and runs a hand through her hair. It doesn’t look like an action of careless frustration, however, but a practiced motion meant to inspire a feeling or emotion in the viewer.

Everything in this house has a shell. You know this game. This is your territory. While they play the field of pretending to be normal, you aren’t even going to try to pretend. You are going to be smooth, a blank white board on a dorm room door. It’s going to be a test to see whose egg shell cover will crack first. Your eyes examine her, then him.  This is going to be tough, but you are ready.

“Well, David, we are not sure where to begin.”

He speaks now, a strong but calm rumble that echoes up his throat and off his lips. His relaxed tone reminds you, for an instant, of how Bro sounds when he’s doing his serious parenting shit. Mature, composed, but not willing to compromise. You don’t know if this should make you feel more relaxed because finally there is something familiar in this conversation, or more tense because that’s not the right man that the tone is coming out of.

“What’s there to begin with? You are Bro’s parents, and mine I guess. I have never met you before and suddenly we’re living together.” You cross your arms and manage to look chill instead of huffy. “ This is probably going to be awkward and it might suck. That depends on you guys.” You shrug and uncross your arms to shove your hands in your pockets. You’re moving constantly, which is not a good sign. You’re antsy because for all your confidence; you are still in a strange situation with almost nothing familiar to hold onto.

You don’t like strange.

“Look, I’m going to do my best not to mess around here. I promised Bro that I’d be polite, or sort of polite anyway.” You could say more, but you won’t. You just shift your weight and watch them through your shades.

DAVE ==> GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE

Wow, that’s a dumb idea. You want to see what they’re going to do, how they’re going to react. You can’t do that if you bounce, can you? Whoever is doing these commands has no clue what they’re doing.

Mommy Dearest (That’s what you’re going to call her for now, since the adults in the room have yet to spill their names) does not look very happy with your sass. She looks at her husband, who crackles his knuckles. It isn’t threatening, but instead appears to be a nervous habit. You file that away for later use.

You also shorten Mommy Dearest to MD in your head for convenience’s sake. Saying that long, if sassy, name over and over is going to get annoying. You’ll need to come up with something for your pops too. Damn, this naming thing is a drag. Father Dearest (FD) finishes cracking all of his knuckles.

“All of that is true, David,” he concedes, “But there must be things Broderick didn’t tell you, or things about us that he may have blown out of proportion. Perhaps we should let you ask questions first.”

Well, that was surprising. This man seems to be at least somewhat rational. You do recall that Bro said that he argued more with his mom than his dad when he gave you a quick low-down on them on the drive here. You still don’t trust him, but you like him more than MD, who is tapping the toe of her high-heeled shoe.  You have one question currently, but other than that your mind goes blank. What would you even ask? ‘Hey why did you ignore my brother for most of his life and then freak out when he bounced and scream at him over me?’

“I have a question. Other than that…I need more time?” You internally flinch as your voice lilts at the end of your sentence. What a pussy move, making that a question. You do not need to ask permission to think. Goddamn.

“Well,” MD speaks, “I’m sure we can give you that. We have all of the time in the world.”

You are quick to disagree. You have one week, six days, ten hours, 32 minutes, and nine seconds left before you are out of here.  You don’t say that out loud, however, because having such an intimate grasp of time is not exactly a normal thing. Also, she was using a figure of speech and you are not an idiot.

“What’s your question, dear?”

Did she really just call you dear? Really? Ugh. This is gross. You should remember to call Bro ‘dear’ for ironic purposes when you get home. He would dig it. Ironically.

“The room I’m in was Bro’s, wasn’t it?”

It’s obvious to you, but you want to confirm. You aren’t totally sure why you want to confirm this, but it will make you feel better to know. Maybe it’s because it will be like you and Bro are going through this weird situation together. Maybe it’s because that way, it really will be like home instead of just feeling safe for some reason.

“Yes. It was. We thought…that you might like it.” MD tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and gives you a smile that almost looks sincere. She must really be trying. You feel a little bit of sympathy for her. Whatever the reason is, they asked you to stay with them. They either really want to right their wrongs or they want to turn you to their side. Either way, they’re going to be good to you. Maybe this won’t be so bad. You nod at her.

“Thanks.”

Both of their faces shift into expressions of surprise. They weren't expecting that, obviously. You lean back on your heels. Well now. Apparently they aren’t as cold and foreign as they first appeared to be. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to go easy on them. You are going to find out the truth behind what really happened with Bro growing up and you are going to push hard. But this means you need to shift your plans. This isn’t going to be a war, but a court case. You are the judge and these people in front of you will either be the defense or the prosecution. You don’t know yet. Either way, it’s going to be you that brings the truth to light and sets right all the wrongs of the past. You are the law. It is you.

Terezi would be proud.

“Well, I’m going to go chill in Bro’s room if that’s cool.”

“Yes, of course. Dinner will be at seven.”

“Sweet.”

You nod your head at them and allow yourself to get the fuck out of there.

It is time to collect some evidence, and Bro’s old room is the ideal place to start. Besides, Lil’ Cal is in there, and he is a key witness. You and he are going to have to have some serious chit-chat soon.

Who knows? Maybe he’ll join you in your quest. Cal’s always been good with helping a brother out, and in this case he may be helping two.

You allow yourself a small smirk as you glide up the stairs.

The next couple weeks are going to be interesting, that’s for sure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO I am currently taking commissions! Below is the link to my tumblr post which information if you want more information.
> 
> http://stopchangingyoururls.tumblr.com/post/7366689166/hey-kids-this-is-going-to-be-an-awkward-and-long-post


	4. Seeing the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Bro Strider, and you are sick in body and sick at heart. It sucks ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW DID THIS TAKE TWELVE YEARS TO POST OR WHAT
> 
> Um, I'm sorry this took so long! College absorbed my life and then I didn't know what to write. Hopefully, now that I'm back on track, my updates will be closer together!

DAVE => STOP BEING YOURSELF.

You can’t stop being yourself, because you are the most excellent person ever, Bro Strider.

Well, most excellent might be an exaggeration. You certainly aren’t feeling too excellent right now. You currently have a cold. Perhaps it’s the stress of re-connecting with your parents and shipping Dave off to them or perhaps it’s because you stuck your head inside the freezer for twenty minutes because it was so damn hot. You are not sure which one was the cause. Neither one really seemed to be a good choice, so you don’t ponder the matter too much.

You are right now cuddled the fuck up in as many blankets as you could find and staring at the ceiling with a look of concentration on your face.  
You've had to cancel all of your gigs and stay in, which you've never liked to do but has become a necessity due to the amount of snot coming out of your nose. It's gross. Being sick is gross.

You're about to roll over and pass out when the phone rings. It's painfully tempting to ignore it, but maybe it's important. Maybe it's the president. Maybe it's your ex-girlfriend calling to say she'll return your really nice headphones. Maybe it's Dave.

One of those possibilities is the correct caller.

"You sound kind of sick, man. You okay?"

You sniffle as quietly as possible.

"I'm alright. Nothing serious. How are you, kid? Have m- our parents tried to kill you and serve your meat at a fancy dinner party yet?"

You hope Dave didn't notice that you almost slipped and called them your parents. It's hard, recognizing that they belong to him too, and vice versa. For so long, it's just been you two that to admit that Dave has other family is strange.

"Nah. You know....they're acting nice. Your-our- Dad. Dad seems alright."

You can tell he's struggling too. It's a transition for you both and the words don't feel quite right yet. You wonder if they ever will, and then wonder if you want them to.

"He's better than Mom usually."

That's all there really is to say on the matter of your father.

The phone line goes quiet but it doesn't feel awkward. It feels like home: like sitting at the table eating cereal for dinner and throwing ninja stars at the walls. It feels like he's sitting on the end of the bed, smirking at your weakness now that you're sick, and carefully handing you a mug of something unknown but tasty. You feel a little better.

"They put me up in your room. I didn't know you drew so much."

You feel surprise. You would have guessed that they cleaned out your room eons ago to make way for another kitchen or something else just as strange and wealthy. Apparently not.

"Yeah. You get more from me than the Strider good looks, you know. I was a really artsy kid. All my shit's still there?"

"Looks like it."

It's quiet again, but now you're thinking. Why wouldn't they clean out your room, or at least get rid of some of your stuff?

"Hey, Bro?"

"Yeah?"

"Lil' Cal has taken over the entire bed. I have no clue where I'm sleeping tonight."

In Strider speak, that means "Thanks for sending Cal along with me. That means a lot."

"Just shove him off. He's a bed hog anyway."

Translation: I just wanted you to feel like things were normal, even when they aren't.

You hear a bell ring off in the distance and Dave gives a quiet sigh.

"Dinner time I guess. Time to face the music."

"Good luck."

"I'll probably need it."

"Heh. You will. Bye."

"Later."

You hang up to the sound of Dave swearing as he tries to hang up his phone. When he gets back, you remind yourself, you need to get him a new one.

BRO => CONTEMPLATE SERIOUS MATTERS

You don't really want to, but you need to.

First off, there's what Dave said about your parents. They're being nice? You guess you shouldn't be surprised. They're probably just trying to convince Dave that you are just crazy and they never did anything wrong. You don't think Dave would believe them but the doubt makes you feel even sicker than before, if that was possible. What's their game, anyway? You are suspicious but you put it aside for a more troubling thought.

Dave also said that your room appeared to be untouched. That really gets to you. Your parents aren't lazy, by any means, so if they wanted to clear that room out they certainly would have done it. They also have never been too emotional (probably where you get it from) so the idea that they would leave your room as it is for sentimental reasons is a strange one.

But no other options are likely.

Unless this is a ploy for irony's sake. Hate son, keep his room as it is once he leaves.

But they were never into irony like you were, and it's not like it could be a stab at you. You didn't even know about it until Dave told you. Maybe they kept it in case Dave ever came by, like he is now? Twenty years is a long time to wait though, and for two of those years you didn't have Dave.

The sentimentality is the only logical reason, even if it is strange. Dave's trip seems like it's going to turn the things you assumed about your past over and bring new things to light.

You swallow and then make a face. Sore throats are a bitch, especially when added on top of a cold.

You sigh and curl deeper into your blanket nest. This is turning out to be more stressful than you thought it would be.

Still- it was nice to hear Dave's voice.

You roll your eyes at the thought. If this is what it's like now, what are you going to be like when he's off to college? You'll probably become one of those weird clingy guardians like you know Egbert will be. You'll call every day- no, every _hour_. You smirk at the scenario in your head and wish that Dave was here to share it with. You then sigh at the non-irony of wishing Dave was here so you could tell him about the image of you calling him all the time when he's gone.

Growing up is hard, you decide, and not just for the person growing up. It's hard, maybe harder, to be the one watching your charge grow up and realize that you have to let them go.

You roll over and prepare to fall asleep, like you did earlier, but this time around sleep takes its sweet time coming to you. You finally fall asleep with your throat aching just as much as your heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently taking commissions! Go to the link below for more details.
> 
> http://stopchangingyoururls.tumblr.com/tagged/commissions


	5. Finding the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are Dave Strider once again, and it is time to get your investigation on. You have put it off for long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is becoming more choice-based? I don't know! I really enjoy make-your-own adventure books and this has started to take that turn. Whoooooooops.
> 
> I didn't realize I out eight o's in there until I counted. Hurrrrrrrrrr.

BRO => SKIP THE CLEVER POV SWITCHING AND BECOME DAVE ALREADY

These commands make less and less sense as you spend more time here, you think (as Dave Strider). Soon you'll be asked to "ascend" or "ride the pony" or some other weird bullshit.

You throw your phone onto the bed after a tiring and interesting phone call with your bro. He sounded pretty sick- and not sick like wicked awesome either. Like the normal people kind of sick. It worries you to hear him like that, but he is a grown-fucking-adult and can take care of himself.

The bell summoning you to dinner rings again and you determine that you have spent enough time fucking around to insure that you'll be fashionably late without being asshole late. You don't hurry to dinner though. No, you take your sweet baby jesus time getting down to the dining room, partially because it's easy to get lost here and partially because running to be on time isn't even on the irony scale. That's how stupid it is. Once you do arrive at approximately 7:13 pm, your parents are waiting. Mommy Dearest looks impatient and Father Dearest looks frustrated. You are slightly pleased about this but refuse to let it show as you take a seat.

“Sorry. Got lost. This house is frickin’ huge, you know?”

MD does not seem pleased by your “I do not give any fucks” style of speaking, but she doesn’t comment on it.

“I’m aware. I suppose you’ve never been in this big of a house before.”

Actually, you have, because you have spent many summers and winter breaks at Rose’s house, but you decide this isn’t relevant to them. She appears to be making a dig at the apartment you’ve lived in your whole life, but you’ve just decided that she is determined to make digs at everything Bro-related and try to not care. It’s harder than you thought.

The three of you eat in silence for a good hour. Normally, that would be enough time to have dinner twice over at home but here they go all out- there are actual courses and shit. You’re using more silverware for the three main courses than you think you and Bro own. By the time dessert and coffee comes around, your stomach is a strange cross between overwhelmed and not full. At home, you eat one thing but you eat a lot of it. Here, it’s about five different things that add up to not enough. You feel like you’re on an alien planet. An alien planet where everything looks exactly the same but the customs are completely different. You are relieved to find that the coffee tastes like pretty much any other coffee. It probably doesn’t have a mind control drug in it, then.

FD suddenly speaks.

“David, you said you needed more time to think about questions. Do you have any more?”

You look down at your mug, the only indelicate thing on the table. They probably didn’t trust you with a nice cup. Apparently, you were raised in a barn and can’t have nice things. You honestly don’t know what to ask first. Your conversation with Bro brought up an interesting question, but you feel like holding it close to your chest for now. Instead, you think of something else.

“Am I allowed to go anywhere in the house? Is there anywhere I should avoid?”

If you’re going to explore the shit out of this house, you need to know if things are being hidden, or if you should be especially careful in certain places.

MD and FD look surprised and then share a glance. The pause that happens after your question is long and strained and now you are curious. There is something going on between them and you want to know what.

MD speaks for them both.

“We would prefer that you stay out of our rooms-” They have separate rooms? Or maybe they live in a suite. You are fascinated by the plural at the end of the word “room”, “- but otherwise, I believe everywhere else is fine.”

Well that’s decided. After you search Bro’s room, you are heading straight for theirs. If you want to know these people, their rooms are the first place to go.

You nod.

“No other questions, your honors.”

The parental units stare at you and you stare back. Nothing is said for a few minutes until FD awkwardly excuses you from the dining table. You chug your coffee and abscond back to Bro’s room.

DAVE => INVESTIGATE BRO’S ROOM

You are in Bro’s room. There are many things to investigate. What would you like to investigate first?

DAVE => INVESTIGATE THE PILES OF SHEET MUSIC

There is sheet music every-fucking-where. It takes up much of the floor and bed space. It thus makes sense to check it out first. You pick up a few pages that are stapled together and sit on the bed to read them. You can’t tell what it’s for or even what it says (since you can’t read music very well) but it has lyrics scribbled in the margins and empty spaces. It appears to be the typical angsty teenage song. There are many lines about escaping out of cages and being misunderstood. You think this must be from Bro’s early irony days, when he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it. You decide to keep this bundle for blackmail purposes. You stand up in order to grab the piece of sheet music under your butt and look at this one. This one is a single sheet and is apparently unfinished. The lyrics are less angst and more self-reflection. They are bitter but amused and pretty good. You keep this one as well- perhaps Bro would finish it if you gave it to him. It sounds like a really good song and you would like to see it in a finished form. If you could read or write music, you might consider finishing it yourself.

As you tuck both pieces music in your suitcase, you see something crammed under the mattress of the bed. Interesting. You stand up and lift the mattress in order to pull it out. Afterwards, you sit back down and read. How interesting. It’s another song, but this is neither angsty nor self-reflective. In fact, it sort of confuses you. It’s angry and hurt and tired. The must have been just before Bro flew the coop, because the tone is similar to the one he currently adopts for his parents.

This is not the confusing part. The confusing part is the end. He started writing a line and then broke off. There are scribbles and dark marks, probably where the lead of his pencil broke. The lyrics pick up again on the next page, but make no sense in context or out of context. Perhaps a page is missing? You tuck this page into your pocket, since it appears to be your most important clue.

Well, you’re bored with this sheet music crap. Now what?

You can either-

EXAMINE THE DRAWINGS

SEARCH FOR THE MISSING PAGE

or

GO TO YOUR PARENTS’ ROOM(S)

You sigh. So many things to do, so little time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah! Leave a comment with your choice of what you want Dave to do! If I receive none I'll just do a poll among my tumblr followers and friends, so don't worry. If you do have a way you'd like to see first, let me know! All of these options will be explored at some point.


	6. Brushing Shoulders with the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've made your choice, and act upon it. You learn more about Bro than he ever told you with words, and it's overwhelming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I should keep going with how the format of this story is going. It's becoming a little more fan adventure-eske. I mean, I like it, but what do you guys think? If people don't dig it, I'll stop and go back to the way it used to be. I guess I thought this would be fun, but we'll see! On a side note, I've hit 10K words! Woo hoo!
> 
> I'm also starting to post these on deviantart, if it's easier for you to keep track there. I'm subjectempire on dA.
> 
>  
> 
> (Also sorry I didn't get you to beta this like I said I would, Darci. I wanted to get this up before I went to work.)

DAVE => SEARCH FOR THE MISSING PAGE

Perhaps searching for that missing sheet music page is the answer. You’re really curious as to where it could be and what it could be hiding. Although there is sheet music everywhere, they do seem to be attached to each other in piles. The section you currently have in your hand is missing the second to last page, and you can tell it was ripped out based upon the little bit of paper left attached to the staple. While you may be bored with the sheet music itself, the idea of scouring the room for clues is much more appealing. Maybe something really obvious will show up and you can make a conclusion out loud to no one, just like Tintin or Nancy Drew.

Dave Strider, boy detective. The name has a fifties ring to it that Jade would probably enjoy unironically. You should text her and let her know what she can be the Captain Haddock to your Tintin. It seems to fit for some reason. You consider changing her name to “Captain Harlock” in your phone.

As you reach for your phone, Cal gives you his disappointed look.

Right, the sheet music. Being a detective. Man, being funny and a sleuth is hard. You don’t know how Problem Sleuth, the hero of an internet famous webcomic, does it. It probably comes with the “being imaginary” territory.

You begin to rummage through the sheet music on the ground, search for a loose page with a ripped corner. Perhaps your missing page got shoved into another packet or thrown across the room. However, this route proves to be fruitless. You find more handwritten sheet music and a few printed out pieces (including one for a duet called ‘The Missing Piece’, which you find to be appropriate, considering what you’re searching for) but nothing reveals your object of desire. You lift the mattresses, together and singularly, and find nothing. Bookcases, desk, random schoolbooks, sketchpads, all of them hold nothing for you.

You give up and flop onto the bed, shoving Cal out of the way. Your head lands on the pillow and you feel something underneath it pushing into your head. You sit up almost immediately and carefully lift the offending cushion. Hiding below is a key. You think that’s strangely cliche, but you take it anyway and shove it on your pocket. There’s no way that won’t be useful later. Your fetch modus, updated since your sburb years, is currently switched into INVENTORY MODE. You turned the hash rap off before leaving home, not wanting to have to break into sick rhymes in front of your parents in order to retrieve an object. The key pops into the FRONT POCKET box. Your modus otherwise contains your wallet, in the RIGHT BUTT POCKET box, and nothing else.

Man, this is so complicated, and all you did was shove a key in your pocket. Imagine what’s going to happen if you pick up a weapon or something. You silently hope it won’t come to that.

You lay back down on the bed and think about your next move. The search could continue outside of this room, but there’s still more to do here. You slip a hand into your pocket and finger the key there, which reminds you that there’s another mystery to be solved now. Why did Bro leave this key behind? What does it open?

DAVE => EXAMINE THE DRAWINGS

That’s really the only thing keeping you here now. Once you do that, you would feel secure in leaving Bro’s room and sneaking around.

You roll off the bed and flop onto the floor, feeling vaguely tired. Maybe you’ll take a nap after looking at the drawings instead of searching the house. The coffee didn’t do much for you (Fuck decaf) , and it’s been a long day so far. A quick check of your mental clock tells you it’s getting close to ten o’clock. Your parents probably won’t be asleep for another hour, but you have no doubt that if you took a nap now, you could stay up all night to search and then sleep during the day. That does mean that you would lose the daylight hours when FD is gone at work to search.

That’s a matter to mull over later. Right now you’ve got some art to gander at.

You haul yourself to your feet and walk over to the desk. There’s a couple sketchbooks there and you drop into the chair and start looking. These are both full, and they’re full of what appear to be early drawings, judging by the skill. There’s a lot of doodles of “da animes” according to handwritten labels, and comics of what appears to be a Gurren Lagen self-insert replacing Simon. You flick through the pages and discover that the self insert had a romance with both Kamina and Yoko. Even when he was a teeny bopper, Bro had all the ladies and gentlemen falling at his feet, though these ones weren’t real. You chuckle quietly as you close the books. You didn’t learn anything useful, but at least you have an idea of where Bro got his shades from, as well as finding a classic pick-up line of “ Gurren may be small, but I’m pretty big (if you catch my drift).” You grab your phone and send that line to Bro in a text.

He’s going to be so mad.

You then put your phone in your INVENTORY, in your LEFT BUTT POCKET box.

You pick up a sketchbook that’s on top of one of the low bookshelves and open it to a random page. This sketchbook is probably from late middle school and isn’t quite full. Here, Bro appears to have started drawing people he knew. It’s still pretty anime, but he started to get a handle on anatomy and shadow. The last few filled pages are on the better side of okay, and the very last page has a sketch of MD. She apparently wasn’t paying attention to Bro, and is sitting on an unfinished piece on furniture, looking away. She looks relaxed, and a little sloppy in her clothing choices. There was obviously a lot of time spent on this, and you wonder if Bro even remembers drawing it.

This book you close and hold for a little bit. When you close your eyes, the last sketch swims in your mind’s eye. You don’t know what Bro meant when he drew it, but it wasn’t angry. MD is portrayed as...human. Maybe he was just drawing what he saw. You sigh through your nose.

The drawings on the wall are the last to go. They’re probably from high school, and it’s obvious that Bro started taking art classes. The landscapes are huge and wild and a little enchanting and detailed. The people start sprouting feathers and horns and wings and have ram’s eyes. There are mermaids and fauns and all sorts of majestic creatures. There are a few normal people up there too- apparent drawings of friends, given the notes written on them in different handwritings and little inside jokes doodled in the corners. There are even drawings of what appears to be young versions of Rose’s mom and John’s dad, both separate and together. They’re always laughing or smiling in these drawings, and you’ve learned from the drawings on the wall and in the last sketchbook that this means that Bro cared for these people, and they him. It’s a little strange to think that Bro was friends with John’s dad and Rose’s mom way back in the day, but you guess it makes sense.

There’s a drawing of FD on the wall as well, and he appears to have let Bro draw him while he worked. He’s at a desk, surrounded by rough lines that form a sketch of what could be an office. He isn’t looking at Bro, his face a side profile, but he has the teeniest smile on his face, like “I know you know that I know that you’re there, and I don’t mind.” FD is drawn in a way reminiscent of the MD drawing from before- he looks like a person, unlike the doodles scattered throughout all the drawings of FD and MD with devil horns or them being drawn as ice people. This drawing is much more intimate, though it’s not obvious if that’s because Bro appeared to like FD more or if it’s because he became better at art. You stare at that drawing for a long time.

The last one you look at is a self-portrait. It isn’t from the front, like most self-portraits are, but instead has Bro looking slightly down and to the right of the page. He’s smiling, but it’s a small smile. He’s wearing the shades you’ve always seen him wear, and he’s encased in a suit he’s obviously uncomfortable in, judging by the way he’s pulling at the collar of his shirt. The entire thing is done in black and white except-

Except for one, small, blue feather peeking out from the side of his neck. There’s the barest hint of other feathers leading down his back, but you don’t know if your imagining it or if they’re really there. You look up at some of the drawings of bird people. All of them have feathers on their necks.

The drawing is simple, but the meaning is obvious and powerful.

You step back and shove your shades up to rub your eyes. A few drawings. Just a little art, and you’ve learned more about Bro then he ever told you. You know him, of course you do, but it’s all been learned, given through his trust. This- this is just another addition to this. You’ve learned more, but you’ve learned so much more and it’s staggering.

You still don’t know how Bro felt about his parents, deep down, or how they felt about him. They obviously were okay with him, since they let him draw such intimate portraits of them, and they were obviously important to him, since he sought them out to draw them. However, he also harbored resentment for them, for the life he was forced to leave. You know this from what he’s told you and from the sheet music and of course the self portrait.

A free spirit caged by a suit.

You sit back down on the bed. You hear doors closing down the hall and assume that your parents have gone to bed. This obviously means you cannot check your parents’ rooms tonight. Your metal clock tells you it’s 11:31:09 pm. You honestly don’t know what to do. You’re a bit overwhelmed with what you’ve found out just from Bro’s music and his art, but there’s still more to be done.

What will you do?

TAKE A NAP

FIND THE KEYHOLE THAT THE KEY FITS IN

SEARCH THE HOUSE FOR THE MISSING PAGE

Your phone vibrates while you consider your options, meaning you can also

CHECK YOUR PHONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make a choice, my friends! Also, let me know if you like this format or if you think it should go back to the way it was way back when.


End file.
